Page 7 of Outcast
My stomach twisted. They’d never stop dropping hints if I didn’t go, would they?
With a sigh, I got up. Caving. But really, what harm would it do to make them happy?
Other than fuel more gossip that Allison and I were destined for the altar.
Mom gave an excited little wiggle. “Good luck!”
“But you won’t need it,” Dad added.
“You should leave the poor boy alone,” Grandpa said as I pushed my chair in. “There’s plenty of time to figure out his life. Why are people always in such a rush?”
I squeezed his shoulder in thanks before crossing the barn floor. Allison was holding court by the table covered in barbecue, corn on the cob, mashed potatoes, coleslaw, and half a dozen pies.
It was a generous spread—and paid for by my family. We had to keep up appearances as the town bankers. Sometimes I hated that we were so prominent. It made it difficult to fade into the background like I’d prefer.
Jimmy Reed stepped into my path. “Hey, Emory! Beautiful night, hey?”
“Yep.”
“Any word on that loan for my microbrewery?”
“Uh, no. Not yet.”
“Bootlegging is part of our history here. It’s going to take off likefire, man. You don’t want to turn?—”
“My dad is actually reviewing that one,” I cut in before I got the full pitch again. “But good luck, man. Sounds awesome.”
I dodged Elaine Kemp, who always had a dozen stories to share about her little dog, Hushpuppy, and bumped into two high school girls who broke out in giggles.
“Sorry!” I sidestepped them, ignoring their invitation to dance, and found myself in front of the bar.
Perfect. I could use a drink before the spotlight was on me and Allison yet again.
I slumped against the bar, and the bartender smirked. “You okay there?”
I blew out a breath. “Yeah, great. Just trying to survive in a small town.”
He chuckled. “Oh, are the natives getting restless?”
“Are they ever not?”
He grinned. “Good point. What’s your poison?”
“Gin and tonic.”
“Coming right up.”
I braced my forearms on the bar and relaxed as he got to work. He was a good-looking guy with buzzed dark hair and sharp cheekbones, but a playful smile softened his stark features.
He set the gin and tonic in front of me, his long fingers wrapped around the glass, and I had to suppress a shiver. What would those fingers feel like wrapped around something else? Maybe my?—
I cut the thought short, but he must have noticed my lingering gaze because his smile turned up a notch.
“Enjoy.”
“I will,” I murmured, holding his gaze as I lifted the glass to take a sip. I didn’t know what the hell had gotten into me. I didn’t flirt with men. I liked women well enough that my fleeting interest in the occasional guy was easy to dismiss.
A man stepped up to the bar beside me. “Christ, I hate this shit. Fucking spoiled little—” He cut off abruptly. “Mr. Gold. Good evening.”
